And You Can Tell Everybody This Is Your Song
by Red Bess Rackham
Summary: Coffee shop AU. Natasha prides herself on being calm and cool and able to read people, until a man with a silver arm, blue eyes, and a mysterious story behind them comes in and throws her completely off balance. Oneshot.


**A/n:** I wrote this for my fantastic friend **stars-inthe-sky** for her birthday a couple months back, and here it is finally, fixed up and publishable. I have never done a coffee shop AU, so hopefully it's not too terrible. ;D Also, a major thank you to the wonderful people at The Beta Branch for their feedback and editing, particularly finaljoy and Shazrolane. Thanks lovelies!

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STARS!**

_Prompt: Coffee shop AU (because reasons)_

* * *

**and you can tell everybody this is your song**

It was a quirky, eclectic little place with sort of a retro, 80's throwback feel to it. On the walls were black and white pictures of 80's Hollywood and the celebs that dominated it - Farrah, Cruise and Selleck, Madonna - next to colorful shots of 80's rockers - the Stones, Aerosmith, KISS, Queen. Natasha supposed you could call it cheesy or maybe it was very un-coffeeshop-like, but she thought there was a weird sort of charm to it, and she liked it.

Some customers would wrinkle their nose at the decor or at the quiet mix of instrumental and easy classic rock piping through the shop, and she would just give her head a shake. The place was, after all, rather obviously named Cafe 80's, so when they walked in were they really expecting anything else?

One such customer arrived at her counter just then, frowning at the decor.

"Can I help you?" Natasha inquired, an amused smile sliding across her features. She liked his deep blue eyes the moment they met hers.

"It looks like the 80's threw up in here," the man commented. His long dark hair nearly brushed his shoulders as he shook his head. "How do you stand it?"

"I kinda like it," Natasha shrugged.

He shook his head as if he couldn't believe her, and tersely ordered his drink. As he handed her a bill to pay, she was surprised when cool metal fingers touched the palm of her hand. She swiftly hid her shock, but apparently not fast enough.

The man smirked, but Natasha could tell it was forced. "Long story," he told her and hastily shoved his hand in his pocket to hide the offending silver hand. "Don't ask."

The way he seemed to harden and shrink away from her in that moment caught her curiosity, but she knew better than to comment. She couldn't get into every customer's life story, and besides, based on the way those blue eyes were now dodging hers, he didn't want her to. So she hitched on her Customer Service Smile and passed the mysterious, good-looking man his coffee.

"Have a nice day," she said, slightly less automatically and fake-friendly than usual (she could be genuinely friendly some days, and other days she had to fake it).

"Yeah," the man said with a grunt. "Sure."

He exited the shop without a glance back, and disappeared past the window at the front of the shop.

* * *

She didn't think about the man until her next shift the following day when, to her surprise, he showed up again, close to the same time as the previous day. (If she was being _really_ honest with herself, which she wasn't, she was glad to see his handsome face again.)

"Hello again," she greeted. She refrained – barely – from commenting on the fact that if he didn't appreciate the ambiance, then why was he back?

He seemed to guess she was thinking it, however, as he met her gaze a little sheepishly and cleared his throat. "The, uh... you guys make really good coffee. And this damn music won't get out of my head." He pointed to the ceiling with a wince, where something by Asia was softly playing.

She nodded and smiled. "They're catchy like that. And you're not the first person to tell me they're back because the coffee is so good."

"You don't drink it?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "I'm more of a tea person myself."

"Tea is good too," he agreed, then got on with his order.

He kept that metal hand hidden in his pocket the whole time, and twice tugged the edge of his coat down to hide his silver wrist. Like he was worried what she might think of him if she spotted it again, like he was dreading her asking him questions about it. Like he might want to tell her all about it if she did, but he wouldn't really be able to bring himself to actually explain, so it was all just better left unsaid.

Natasha dutifully made his coffee, and tried to drown her rising curiosity. He reached for his drink with his normal hand and thanked her. He took a step away from the counter, hesitated, then continued to the exit. She watched him go, wondering if she should have said something after all – but no, it wasn't her business. If he wanted to tell her something personal, he could – he was a stranger, and she would not pry.

* * *

He was back two days later, and she ignored the fact that she felt pleased when she saw him shoulder the door open and turn those beautiful blue eyes her way. They exchanged the usual small talk – he appreciated the rain they'd been having lately, she didn't – and this time he took a seat at one of the tables by the window. He watched the world go by and seemed to be very lost in thought for a time.

Natasha realized she was staring and had been wiping the same spot on the counter for more than a couple minutes. She gave herself a shake and went to take her break. He was gone when she came back.

Calm, cool Natasha did not feel a little disappointed by this.

* * *

After his sixth stop at the coffee shop, Natasha learned two things: his name was James Barnes (because this time he bashfully had to pay for his three dollar coffee with a credit card, having zero change on him), and he wasn't simply observing the world go by, he was watching the apartment building across the street (the longer she studied him, the more it became clear that he barely took his eyes off it).

She added these to the small list of things she knew about him thus far: he liked coffee, rain, rock music (the classic 80's stuff was growing on him, he'd said). And then there was that flirtatious comment about her having a real nice smile the other day too (she had not had butterflies swooping in her stomach at the compliment, no, she did not).

He still didn't like the decor (but not enough to stop coming), he was self-conscious about that silver arm, he was currently unemployed after "a couple years of odd jobs", and he absolutely never wanted whip cream on his coffee ever again (she'd added it on a whim just for fun, and though he'd initially thanked her with a wink, he'd come back minutes later asking if she could scrape it off because it tasted all wrong – "It's like stale air and sweetened plastic.").

She was normally good at reading people, but James had an element of unpredictability and mystery about him she didn't know how to penetrate. She wanted to ask him about the long story involving his hand, but he was still working to hide it from her and the other people in the shop, and besides, small talk six times in two weeks did not make them friends.

She wanted to know why that apartment building was so interesting to him, but then she'd have to admit that she was keeping such a close an eye on him for the past hour (okay, couple days days) that she had noticed.

Twice when she was busy with other customers, she thought she sensed his gaze on her, but when she glanced his way, he was back to staring out the window and she decided she'd imagined it.

* * *

This routine carried on for several more days. James came in around the same time of day in the afternoon, they exchanged meaningless small talk, and she made him his drink (she attempted adding a cinnamon stick one time, and he gave her a surprised and appreciative grin after he'd taken a sip. She maybe felt a tiny bit extra pleased by his reaction). He took a seat at the window to watch the building, and she tried her hardest not to let his presence and her curiosity about him completely derail her day.

She resolutely didn't volunteer to clean tables (usually Carol's job) in order to have an excuse to be close to him (though she thought about doing so). She didn't offer to mop the floors (usually Eric's job) so she could have an excuse to stand where she could see what he was looking at (she thought about doing that too). She didn't take Jen's shift for the following afternoon (normally Natasha's day off) when the girl called in sick.

(She could _think _about it doing all those things, of course she could, because there was no harm in _thinking_ about doing them. Calm, cool Natasha could think whatever she wanted.)

That is, until James left for the day, tossing a warm smile and a wave her way as he did. Then she_ really_ _did_ offer to take Jen's shift (practically begged Carol for it, in fact, but it was only because she needed the money, truly, _seriously…_).

* * *

The next afternoon, after James arrived and took up his up his usual post, Natasha let Eric work the counter while she mopped, her curiosity almost at a breaking point. There were a number of people coming and going from the building across the street James watched, however, so she had no clue which person in particular James was looking for. She hadn't realized she'd stopped mopping, and was standing only a foot or two away from him, until James spoke to her.

"Did you need something?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at her. He didn't seem bothered or annoyed, merely wondering.

Natasha bit her lip. This was embarrassing... but also her opening. So she took a breath and sat down at the table across from him. He lifted his chin in surprise.

"What are you looking for?" She nodded her head at the window. "You've been coming here at the same time for almost three weeks, just to sit here for a couple hours and watch that building." She quirked her lips in a teasing smile. "You a crazy stalker or something?"

He chuckled. "Not exactly."

He raised his eyes from the rim of his cardboard cup to meet hers. She felt suddenly awkward – she was invading his privacy, she was an over curious barista and _why the hell had she sat down_. She opened her mouth to apologize, her face growing hot under his deep, blue-eyed stare (and since when did she blush? Or become so off-balance around someone – some _stranger? _Since when did calm, cool Natasha turn into a teenage girl with a crush?).

He defied her expectations again, and did not tell her to mind her own business.

"It's my friend," he said, and his gaze slid down to his thumb tracing idle patterns on the side of his cup. His silver hand was hidden from view under the table's edge. "A while back, I... lost myself. And I hurt him." He turned his head to face the window. "I know he'll forgive me for it because I wasn't myself, but I can't ask him to. Not after... I just can't."

Natasha was overwhelmed by the pain and the guilt in James' eyes. Quietly, she inquired, "He live in that building?"

James nodded.

And even though she was getting what she wanted – his story – Natasha had to know: "Why're you telling me this?" She tucked a long strand of deep red hair behind her ear.

He fixed those blue eyes on her. "Because you asked." He shrugged and sipped from his nearly empty cup. "Because you're a stranger. Because… who else am I going to tell?" His half-smile was sad and a little bitter and it cut into her, into pieces like a physical blade.

She wasn't used to not knowing what to say.

They sat in silence for a moment and then Natasha realized she better get back to work. She returned to mopping the floor, her mind buzzing. She relieved Eric from cash so he could take his break, and she went through the next handful of transactions in a haze. Rather than satisfying her curiosity, it had only made it about a thousand times worse. When James was finished watching the apartment building for the day and headed for the door, Natasha called out to him before she could stop herself.

"James!"

He swivelled to face her. "Yeah?"

"Maybe you could... maybe if you just invited your friend out for coffee?" she suggested. "Then you don't have to get into the heavy stuff. And it's a start."

James looked at her searchingly, thoughtfully. After a moment, he conceded, "Maybe. Thanks, Natasha."

She watched him go and hoped, as always, that he would be back tomorrow. She took Eric and Carol's good-natured teasing all afternoon about the dark-haired stranger Natasha had a blindingly huge crush on. She assured them she didn't – even though she was very afraid (she knew) she _absolutely did_.

* * *

He wasn't there the next day, and she had to work hard not to feel disappointed. After that, it was her day off, and she managed to refrain from popping by Café 80's for no reason around mid-afternoon.

The following two days, James was still absent, and she found herself watching the apartment building across the street in the vain hope she might catch a glimpse of him. If Jen noticed her coworker was much more withdrawn than usual, she tactfully did not comment.

* * *

Finally, a full week later (not that Natasha was keeping track, of course, or looking up hopefully every time someone walked in the door), James came back. Natasha couldn't stop the grin that spread across her face when she glanced up from someone else's latte to see him approach the counter.

"James!" she greeted (and okay, maybe her heart rate kicked up a notch, and maybe she simply was not calm, cool Natasha around this man). "Hold on, I'm just about to go on break."

Carol raised her eyebrows and Natasha could feel her cheeks were hot, but she didn't care. She quickly finished up the order she was working on then came around the counter to talk to James.

"How'd it go with your friend?" she asked.

"I took your advice," he said, pinning her with those devastating blue eyes. "He was glad to see me."

"That's good," Natasha smiled, and she could tell he seemed lighter, more relaxed than the last time she'd seen him. It made her glad to know she might've had a hand in helping him in some way.

"Thank you, Natasha," James said earnestly.

The air seemed to get thick between them because Natasha was suddenly finding it hard to breathe under the intensity of James' stare. The world seemed to fade away around them. He reached out and grasped her hand, and she was startled when it was his left hand – his metal hand. She tore her gaze away from his eyes to see her fingers interlocked with the bands of silver.

"How?" she asked, so quietly she barely heard herself, then cleared her throat and tried again, breaking the spell that had fallen between them (and oh, calm, cool Natasha was long gone). "How? How did it happen?"

He grinned then, a wide, self-satisfied sort of grin that she'd come to know as his Flirting Smile. "Tell you what: come to dinner with me, and I just might tell you."

She reluctantly released his hand to cross her arms over her chest. "I don't know," she hedged. "You said it was a long story. Are you it'll only take one dinner to tell it?"

His grin widened for a moment before he wiped it away, becoming mock-serious. "No, actually, now that you mention it, I think it'll probably take _at least_ three. Maybe five."

"Ten?" she suggested with a Flirting Smile of her own, and he laughed.

"On one condition," he said and dipped his head slightly. "My next coffee is free."

This time it was her turn to laugh as she took a step back to go make him his usual.

James hastily warned her, "And absolutely no whip cream!"

**-end-**

* * *

**A/n: **Thanks for reading! Feedback is hugely appreciated. :D


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